


The Twine Between Two Tin-Cans

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Dancing, Feelings Realization, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-06-26 11:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15662712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: Roughly five times Simon surprises Jace by being coordinated on a make-shift dance floor, and one time Jace stops internally swooning from the sidelines and joins in.“So, what?” Jace says, smirking. “You can dance, but you can’t cook? What kind of house-husband are you gonna be?”Simon gapes at him. “I wasn’t - I don't… that wasn’tdancing.”“Uh-huh,” Jace says. He scoops up a revision card and chucks it at Simon, watching his mad scramble to stop it landing in his coffee with something like fondness in his chest. “Sure it wasn't. Now come on, we have chemistry.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pissed over the show and I'm going to write as many fics as possible out of spite. Much more Malec in the works. I know I have many a WIP but luckily this story is finished, so it shouldn't take too long to upload. I'll add more tags as I go, and I hope you enjoy it! Thanks!

The thing is, Simon’s pretty clumsy. That’s a well-known fact, not something anyone can escape or ignore. His family knows it, his friends know it, and any partner he manages to trick into a relationship through sheer force of will and what has to be magic inevitably finds out within a few dates. Simon walks into door-frames, collides with tables, knocks things over with flailing limbs and trips over his own feet on a regular basis. It's impossible not to know this. 

Apparently, what’s not known is this: Simon’s pretty clumsy, until you get him _dancing._

Jace doesn't think he’s supposed to be seeing this. _This_ being Simon, at the kitchen counter, swaying in time to the music. The song’s turned down low, pouring out of a set of battered speakers, something heavy with a thundering bass. Jace doesn’t usually listen to this kind of music. He likes classical stuff, pieces of piano music that make him feel a little less harsh, music that softens and soothes the jagged parts inside of him. He’d never voice that, because Alec is a bit of a bitch at times, and he’d definitely call Jace an edgy emo without a beat of hesitation. The point is that Jace never listens to music like this, and although he suffers through Izzy’s top forty playlists every car ride to school, there’s something different about this moment. The heavy music feels quiet, makes him feel restless and calm at the same time. 

Maybe it’s the fact that this is Simon Lewis’s kitchen, and Jace doesn’t really know Simon all that well, and they’re alone on a rainy afternoon. Maybe it’s the way Simon moves, like he can trust whoever happens to be looking. Maybe that’s what makes it feel strangely intimate. 

Simon dragged him here about half an hour ago to study for their paired chemistry assignment. Their books and papers are spread out over the scrubbed table, pens scattered on the surface of coloured mind-maps and question cards, eraser rubbings and pencil shavings messing up the organised chaos. Jace has an HB pencil tucked behind his ear, nicked from a plastic pot on the windowsill. The eraser’s been bitten off and the end is all gnawed on, and it doesn’t matter because Jace hasn’t even glanced at his work in a while. Simon’s mom had popped her head around the door earlier to ask Simon to quickly wash the dishes since he forgot to do them this morning, and Jace has completely abandoned all pretence of studying since Simon got up with a groan and flicked the radio on. 

His eyes skitter over the burnt orange cupboards and mismatched tea-towels hanging from various handles. Patterned teacups line the window and the kettle hisses and whistles, silver and shiny. Plants spill from every available surface in warm, rust-red pots, and there are pictures on the walls and magnets on the fridge, letters that spell out mild insults, images that weave history through the room.

Everywhere he looks, there is life and colour, a stark contrast to his own home. Izzy’s room is a sugary concoction of pink and deep red and black, and Alec’s is plain and navy blue, and Jace doesn’t have much more than the odd bit of sheet music pinned to his white wall. The kitchen is dull and the rooms are mostly empty of anything but antique furniture. Here, though, is an explosion intertwined lives. It’s easier to look at the way the walls bleed with vitality than it is to look at Simon, but he’s never been one to back down from difficult challenges, and his eyes just won’t stay away.

Simon whistles absently along with the tune, and Jace finds his gaze drawn to him. He moves like this song was _made_ for him. It’s impossible, really, considering Jace has seen Simon quite literally slip on nothing and head-butt his own locker, but right now Simon almost looks… graceful. It’s just a slow movement, a gentle sway of the hips as he sponges away the remains of the previous night’s lasagne, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and suds soaking into the front of his shirt. It shouldn’t really be attractive. It’s a nothing motion, but Jace can’t look away. His heart thuds hard in his chest. 

Jace doesn’t really know Simon all that well. They both dated Clary, briefly, at different times, and neither relationship worked out. Simon’s in a couple of his classes, but he’s always at the front, laughing and passing notes and generally being an awkward mess of a human when he’s called on. Izzy likes him, and he’s friends with Maia. They have mutual friends, and Jace supposes they could call each other friends if they wanted to, without too many questions, but their relationship is mostly built on manly nods and insults and a slow, grudging kind of resignation. 

Simon does a little complicated set of steps across the chipped tiles, his socked feet sliding easily across the mopped surface. It’s almost like he’s forgotten Jace is there, caught up in gathering a tea-towel and turning up the music a little. 

“You could have picked a decent song, at least,” Jace says, cracking the moment neatly in half. He reclines a little in the wooden chair, the cushion crinkling beneath him. His jacket is tucked on a hook near the open front door, and his shoes have joined the neat row underneath the dangling swathes of fabric. He doesn’t know why the front door’s open, only that it hasn’t shut the whole time he’s been here. 

Simon double-takes, and Jace concludes that he really _had_ forgotten Jace was there. He half-turns, just enough that Jace can catch a hint of sunlight on his face - it’s one of those weird days, where the sun’s out despite the frequent bursts of rain, and Jace just hopes that Alec’s feeling gracious enough to come to pick him up later, so he won’t get trapped in a finicky downpour. 

“You wouldn’t know a decent song if it sat on you, Lightwood,” Simon says. He doesn’t quite stop dancing, but he’s not as seamless now. He drums a staccato beat against the sodden countertops with his bitten nails, and Jace sighs, rifling through the papers in front of him. There’s something about reactions written down in blue ink, but Jace feels a little too warm and comfortable to care about chemistry. 

“Please,” Jace mutters, scratching something aimlessly on the corner of a piece of green card. It takes the shape of a cat, rough and lopsided, missing most of its whiskers. “You’re not the only musical one here.”

Simon whips around, flinging the tea-towel over one shoulder and leaning back against the counter in a belated, fruitless attempt at being casual. The front of his shirt is wet, sticking to his stomach and dyeing the fabric a darker blue. There’s a nerdy symbol on the front, yellow - but not the Batman symbol, which Jace actually recognises. He doesn’t know if he should be disgusted with himself or not for the offhand knowledge. 

“You play the guitar too?” Simon asks. He’s got this weird little lilt to his voice, like he’s trying desperately to push down any eagerness. Jace rolls his eyes. He likes Simon better when he doesn’t care about what Jace thinks, which is most of the time, but there’s a clue there - this is something Simon cares about, or he wouldn’t be so careful. 

“Piano, actually,” Jace admits. He doesn’t know why he’s admitting it. He doesn’t really play for anyone, although sometimes when he senses Alec leaning against the doorframe behind him in the music room, he doesn’t immediately stop. He lets the notes linger, lets the song turn into something soft and grateful. 

Simon’s eyes light up. “Yeah? I tried that, for a couple of weeks, but I don't have the hands for it.” He wiggles his fingers, still soapy and wrinkled now, at the pads, like the eyelids of ancient ones. “I’m better with the guitar. I think Becky’s boyfriend plays the piano actually, although I don't know. He doesn’t really talk to any of the family, which pretty much means he won’t last long.”

Jace doesn’t know who Becky is, but he can guess from the way Simon’s face changes, softening, that she’s someone important. It’s the same look he had on when he perked up at his mom’s brief appearance earlier. 

“Becky’s my sister,” Simon clarifies, throwing himself down in the chair opposite Jace and knocking their feet together. He pulls them back hastily before Jace can do more than raise an eyebrow, scrambling to sit upright and stuffing the string of his fleece into his mouth. 

Jace isn’t - he’s not good at small talk. He knows how to charm people, and he’s okay with parents, and he can talk easily around family and friends, but the bits in between with undefined people give him pause. He has charisma, Maryse always says drily, but Jace has seen Alec’s boyfriend, and that - _that_ is charisma. What Jace has is the ability to sweet-talk his way out of trouble and alienate people that he doesn’t understand.

He’s getting better, but he feels too rough, still, on the outside, like he’ll chafe against anybody he tries to get close to. But he wants to try, here, because Simon’s face is expectant and open, the beginnings of a hopeful smile in place, something Jace doesn’t see all that often. 

The song switches over to something smoother, but still just as obnoxiously pop. Simon taps his feet, drums his fingers, and bobs his head. It’s like he has to move or he’ll crumble. 

“Big family?” Jace asks, casual. “I’ve only seen your mom so far.”

Simon’s eyes crinkle a little at the corners when he smiles. It’s a new observation, one that Jace tucks away in a daze for a later date. He’s still stuck on the dancing thing, and his brain can’t handle more than one little piece of Simon at a time. 

“Depends what you mean, really,” Simon says. It’s surprisingly cryptic for someone who spills everything he’s ever thought into the open within minutes of meeting someone. 

Jace tips his head to the side, eyebrow cocked, and waits. 

Simon rolls his eyes. “I’ve got mom and Becky, but there’s like, a billion other people on the street that count as family. There’s always someone coming in and out, and - yeah, it’s a big family.”

Jace frowns. “Is that why the door’s open? Because that’s a major security risk, Lewis.”

Simon actually snorts, still chewing slowly on the string. “It’s not like it’s open when nobody’s here, _jeez._ And everyone here does it. Plus, I’m pretty sure everyone here’s trained in some kind of weird, funky, never-before-heard-of martial arts and could kick any burglar’s ass. My mom almost took me out with a frying pan once when I tried to sneak up on her, and Becky full-on slapped one of our neighbours a few years ago because she thought it was an invader. Helen was pretty proud, and now they go to self-defence classes together.”

Jace doesn’t really know what to say to that. He can hear yelling from the street outside, kids running around, and the music is still on, a soothing escape from the monotony of homework. Simon doesn’t seem to mind the lapse in conversation, picking up a handful of pens and fumbling around with the caps as he pulls an incomplete mind-map towards him. 

“Izzy, my sister, has a whip,” Jace admits, after a moment. Simon lights up at Jace’s words, and his face turns oddly awed as Jace adds, “Plus, Alec and I spar sometimes. He does archery and I do fencing.”

“I refuse to give you an even bigger head by telling you how cool I find that,” Simon says, blinking rapidly. “I am hovering at a totally normal level of excitement, dude.”

Elaine, Simon’s mom, bustles in then, her hair wrapped up in a towel on top of her head. She gives them both an indulgent smile as she heads for the kettle and Jace ducks his head. He can feel Simon smirking at him across the table. 

“You boys sure don't sound like you’re studying,” Elaine says, pulling down cups and tea-bags and dragging the coffee container towards her. She sighs as a tidal wave of water greets her on the counter, stepping back in a practiced move to avoid getting damp. “Simon, you _soaked_ the place. It looks like the aftermath of the Titanic in here.”

“Pretty sure that would involve a lot more dead people,” Simon says cheerfully, and Elaine whips the tea-towel off Simon’s shoulder and swats him over the head with it, ruffling his fluffy hair. Jace doesn’t bother hiding his grin when Simon whines. 

“Jonathan, would you like coffee? Tea?” Elaine lifts a tea-cup in his direction. 

“Jace only drinks the blood of his enemies,” Simon says, still smoothing back his hair. It looks better fluffed up, if Jace is honest, but he’s not going to offer an opinion here.

“Better watch out, then, I’m feeling thirsty,” Jace says, deadpan, with a pointed look in Simon’s direction. He turns back to Elaine with a smile that doesn’t feel as fake as his normal, charming one. “I’ll have tea, please, if you’re making one.”

Elaine smiles warmly at him.

“Am I in an alternate dimension?” Simon demands, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“Anything special?” Elaine asks, ignoring her son as he gapes. Jace adds another leg to his doodle of a lopsided cat, just to give himself something to do that isn’t smirking. “We have Lavender, or there’s Earl Grey, or Lemon and Ginger?”

“Lemon and Ginger sounds nice, thanks,” Jace says, with another smile, the epitome of polite and well-mannered. He’s mostly doing it to watch Simon’s brain implode, but there’s also the fact that Maryse would skin him alive if she caught him being rude to someone. 

“Alternate dimension, gotta be,” Simon mutters, sinking down in his seat. He perks up when his mom plops a cup of coffee down in front of him, and Jace accepts the steaming hot mug gratefully. The weather is still a little too warm for hot drinks, but they have studying to do, and he’s thirsty, and this whole thing is too nice to ruin with a refusal. 

“Make sure you’re all cleared up by six, boys, but Jonathan, you’re welcome to stay for dinner,” Elaine says. She smiles again, leaving with two cups held carefully in her hands, her towel coming a little loose around her head. 

“I wouldn’t stay for tea,” Simon says. Before Jace’s stomach can sink too low, he adds, “It’s my turn to cook, which means everything will be burnt and covered up badly with all the spices I can find in the cupboard.” He winces. “We have a lot of spices. It doesn’t always help.”

Jace snorts, relaxing back against the chair. He sips his tea and sighs as the song changes again. He kicks Simon lightly, and Simon narrows his eyes at him. 

“So, what?” Jace says, smirking. “You can dance, but you can’t cook? What kind of house-husband are you gonna be?”

Simon gapes at him. “I wasn’t - I don't… that wasn’t _dancing._ ”

It was. It definitely was dancing, and Jace wants to see more of it. Maybe join in. Looks like he's going to be sticking around then, if only to solve the mystery of a suddenly un-clumsy boy with surprisingly pretty eyes. 

“Uh-huh,” Jace says, dousing that thought before it can catch fire. He scoops up a question card and chucks it at Simon, watching his mad scramble to stop it landing in his coffee with something like fondness in his chest. “Sure it wasn't. Now come on, we have chemistry.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s sometimes awkward, when they catch each other staring strangely, like they’re trying to figure each other out, but mostly it’s comfortable. And that’s what makes it weird, Jace thinks, because the comfort comes so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yello, I took forever, what is new? thanks for the response to the last chapter, I love all of you!! hope you like this! Proper dancing next time!! And Alec and Magnus because I have to!!!

Jace becomes something of a regular fixture at Simon’s house. It’s… weird. Good weird, though. Good weird in a way that makes his chest a bit tight and warm.

Izzy and Alec notice his frequent disappearances, but nobody really talks about it. They just give him odd looks when they think he won’t notice. They don't ask, and he doesn’t talk about it, doesn’t offer any information, and he’s sure they think he’s off standing on street-corners, or weaseling his way into bars that he shouldn’t be in, full of shady, dodgy people.

That’s unfair, actually, Jace thinks uneasily. They know Jace is more likely to attend a book club or the gym than a drug den, but the awkwardness still lingers whenever Jace arrives home later than usual without an explanation.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t want to talk about it yet. Maybe he just likes it as it is. Maybe it feels too new to ruin with raised eyebrows and probing questions.

He knows Alec is vaguely concerned, but he also knows that Alec has way too much on his mind at the minute, with exams and studying and moving in with Magnus on the horizon. Izzy usually just lets Jace get on with it for a while, and then corners him when she’s had enough and gently bullies him into talking until he feels better.

But Jace doesn’t need comfort this time, because nothing’s wrong. Things are actually quite a lot better than they have been for a while, although he’s not about to admit that, especially not to Simon.

If Simon thinks it’s weird that Jace is around more often, he doesn’t say anything. He never tells Jace to leave, and the permanently-open door hasn’t shut on him yet. Simon doesn’t actually live as far away as Jace thought he did, so it’s easy enough to get there and spend a couple of hours failing desperately at video games or quizzing each other before he has to go home. Video games, he’s discovered, are not the same as physically fighting someone, which Jace is much better at than button-mashing.

He flops on Simon’s bed most of the time and reads, to Simon’s shock, or does his homework. The first time he produced a novel - Holes, by Louis Sachaar, not complicated but very clever at the same time - Simon damn near fainted. Jace likes books, though, and he’s not ashamed of liking books, although he probably wouldn’t drag out a novel at school, where people could see him. Simon gets over the shock quickly enough.

It’s sometimes awkward, when they catch each other staring strangely, like they’re trying to figure each other out, but mostly it’s comfortable. And that’s what makes it weird, Jace thinks, because the comfort comes so easily. When they’re not in Simon’s room or helping in the kitchen, they sit in the den on the ground floor, Afghan blankets itching their skin and mindless movies playing in the background. They don't talk, exactly, except to take the piss out of each other and say idiotic things, but it’s nice. Fun. Jace doesn’t - he doesn’t have a lot of that, if he’s honest. He’s not unhappy, or lonely, but he hasn’t got anything deeper than a gym buddy or a study partner, if he disregards his siblings. Which he doesn’t. It’s just different, is all.

Even Simon’s family like him. Elaine makes him tea, and Jace quickly learns not to bring up Simon’s dad, and his sister looks him up and down thoughtfully when he’s eating next to her at the table, and makes sure to grin at him when nobody can see, presumably trying to unnerve him.  
  
Sometimes he stays for dinner, choking on spicy curries and gobbling up sweet rice. Simon, Jace learns, is a vegetarian, so the meat isn’t real meat, and more often than not it’s veggie stir-fries and lasagnes, but it still tastes good. Simon always warns him when it’s his turn to cook, but Jace usually stays anyway, if only to make fun of Simon’s frantic muttering as his pan boils over. The spices really don’t help.

Sometimes, he makes Simon go for a run with him, just because he can. Now, _that_ is fun.

“How is it you’re graceful as hell when you’re dancing but you can’t run for shit?”

Jace jogs backwards for a second, grinning smugly, but it’s clear that Simon isn’t moving anytime soon. He jogs forward again and nudges Simon’s shin with the toe of his trainer.

“First of all,” Simon pants, bending over to rest his hands on his knees, “that’s a weird-ass saying. Who would run for shit, of all things? I’d run for very few things, least of all shit. I need proper motivation, see, like something chasing me, but even then I might just lie down and let it eat me, depending on the day.”

Jace crosses his arms and waits for Simon to finish pushing his lungs back into place. He’s got a stupid sweatband on his head, pushing his hair up like porcupine spikes, and he’s sweaty and red-faced, which Jace doesn’t really understand, because Simon’s not unfit. Or he doesn’t look it, anyway. There’s muscle in his arms and stomach, and his legs, although skinnier than Jace’s, look like they could hold him up for quite a while.

“And second of all, I’m good at exercise, okay? I know how to do all sorts of stuff, I just hate running.”

Jace tugs on his arm until Simon groans and starts moving again, but they slow their pace to a light jog because Jace doesn’t think Elaine will invite him back for more tea if Jace hauls her son’s corpse over the doorstep like a cat with a bird. It doesn’t take them long to spot the familiar red mailbox with the dent in it in the distance, apparently from when Simon backed his van into the garden when he first learned to drive. It’s not a massive neighbourhood, but it’s cookie-cutter and good for laps, because of the rectangular shape.

“Don't you have to have good stamina to dance?” Jace muses aloud, waving as they pass Nanna Green’s house. Nanna Green is an elderly woman who looks about a hundred-and-ten, with wrinkled brown skin and a green headscarf keeping her battered curls tucked away. Hence the name.

“Your boy’s working you hard, little one,” Nanna Green calls out, from where she’s perched on a rocking chair, scrawling shaky X’s over some kind of complicated maths puzzle. Jace likes the sound of that. Your boy. Sends a strange feeling down his spine, like fingers dripping over his skin.

“Save me!” Simon shouts back, his voice hoarse and desperate, and both Nanna Green and Jace laugh.

They slow to a stroll a few minutes later, and Jace focuses on centering his breathing while Simon groans and whines beside him, stumbling along.

“It’s not fair that you’ve managed to charm my people in like three weeks,” Simon complains loudly.

“Your people?”

Simon waves a hand at the street. “Yeah, my people, you know, all my neighbours and friends and stuff. You’ve got Nanna Green on your side. And Marie doesn’t talk to anyone but she started chatting your ear off after like five seconds.”

“Marie is four, Simon,” Jace says. “One day she likes carrots and the next she thinks trees are aliens. Her liking me isn’t a judgement against you.”

“Old Edgar even gave you money,” Simon continues, like Jace never said anything.

“He gave me money because I mowed his lawn,” Jace says, rolling his eyes.

“I mowed his lawn every week for a month when I was twelve and all I got was three musty boiled sweets.”

Jace smirks. “You must not have done a very good job then.”

Simon makes an indignant noise and hops up on the low wall outside his garden. It’s painted white, but there are also colourful handprints and splats that could possibly be animals in the right light daubed onto the brickwork, done by various neighbourhood children. Jace watches Simon swing his feet while he stretches his legs, and he doesn’t think he imagines the way Simon’s eyes linger on his thighs as he dips easily into a lunge.

“Buddy, you need to stop all of that,” Simon says, gesturing vaguely at Jace’s lower half. “I’m one hundred percent certain that’s why Edgar gave you money when you mowed his lawn. The shirtlessness and the shorts you were wearing probably helped you out there too.”

“Edgar is eighty-two,” Jace says succinctly, leaning until he feels a comfortable strain in his calf. He’s covered in a light sheen of sweat, and although he’s nowhere near as bad as Simon, he’s still probably going to have to borrow Simon’s shower before he goes home. That sends a thrill through him that he’s not even going to pretend to understand.

“Yeah, he’s old, but he’s not blind, man,” Simon says. He leans as far back on the wall as he can without falling off, and then pops back up again, his headband slipping down slightly. His eyes are bright, always are. “He still has needs, you know?”

Jace pauses, before smoothly standing again, stretching out his back. “You really want to talk about an eighty-two-year-old guy’s needs?”

Simon wrinkles his nose and hops off the wall. “Totally not, the conversation just ran away from me, that’s all. C’mon, we have bagel bites inside and I have a craving. I need to put all the calories back in my body now that you’ve made me sweat them out.”

“That’s really not how this is supposed to work.”

Inside, it’s cooler, which Jace is grateful for. Simon snags a plate of bagel bites and a pot of dip off the side, ducking under his mom’s glare, and Jace gives Elaine a wave. The glare softens, and he gets a pat to his cheek in return that makes him stumble slightly. Becky looks up from her phone where her feet are propped up on the table to give him a slow once-over, mouth curling into something predatory, and Jace concludes that her on-again off-again relationship with that guy, Steve, is over now. He hurries after Simon, taking the stairs two at a time to try and step on Simon’s heels.

“Don't be an ass,” Simon yelps, as he trips through his bedroom door. The bagel bites survive the sudden drop, miraculously, and Jace is about to collapse on Simon’s bed when he’s dragged up by his shirt collar. He blinks at Simon’s hand fisted in the fabric and then cocks an eyebrow at him. They’re very close, all of a sudden.

Simon flushes, but doesn’t back away. “You’re gonna get your gross sweat all over my bed, and I only just washed the sheets.”

It’s too easy to make a joke over the implications of that, so Jace lets his smirk do the mocking.

“Ha, _ha_ ,” Simon says, rolling his eyes. “It was laundry day yesterday, you know that’s a big deal around here.”

It is a weirdly big deal around here. It turns into a strange neighbourhood event, with people bustling in and out carrying baskets of clothes and using each other’s washers and lines in the garden. The first time Jace was present for it, he thought it was someone’s birthday, and he’d missed the memo. He got roped into folding Number Fourteen’s old sheets, Simon snickering at him from across the room, where he was haphazardly throwing his boxers into the basket before his mom could make him sort them by colour.

“Got towels?” Jace says, as he grabs his bag from where it’s leaning against Simon’s bedside table.

“What’d I tell you? Laundry day.” Simon shoves a bundle of soft green towels into his arms and grins as he pushes Jace out of the room. Jace takes that grin and holds it tight in the recesses of his mind, where it will stay, along with Alec’s voice and Izzy’s laugh and Max’s favourite song.

He doesn’t know if that thought should worry him or not.

He showers quickly, putting on the clothes he keeps shoved in his school-bag and walking through the hall with his socks balled-up in his hands. He can hear the music from Simon’s room and pauses just outside the door. He thinks he can hear feet hitting the floor, and maybe a voice that doesn’t sound altered.

Jace grins at the door. Simon’s dancing, and maybe singing.

“Hey, Jonathan.”

Jace spins around, genuinely surprised that he’s been crept up on. It takes a lot for someone to get the jump on him.

Rebecca gives Jace that same once-over from before, and he’s abruptly aware of the fact that he’s barefoot and still damp, his hair gleaming with water. He puts on a cocky smirk that he doesn’t feel, and edges back towards the door.

“I was hoping to get you alone, but Simon’s been glued to your side whenever you’re around.”

“Uh, yeah,” Jace says. “Can I help you with something?”

Maybe it’s a little blunt, but Rebecca doesn’t seem to mind. She quirks an eyebrow and steps even closer, fluttering her eyelashes, and Jace suddenly sees exactly where this is going and he doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t know how to get out of it.

The door flings open abruptly, and a hand grabs the back of Jace’s shirt, yanking him inside. Jace gets his feet right under him and moves smoothly into the room, surprised by the strength in Simon’s pull.

“Becky,” Simon hisses, and Rebecca promptly starts pissing herself laughing.

“Oh my God,” Rebecca wheezes. “Your faces.”

Simon shuts the door with a snap, and the laughter fades as Rebecca presumably howls her way down the hallway to tell her mom about Jace’s deer-in-the-headlights expression. Jace is usually much, much smoother when it comes to girls, but that was Simon’s sister, and he’s way out of his depth here.

The music is still playing, a steady thump, and Simon is utterly still for a moment, before he groans and head-butts the door gently. Then he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and spins on his heel, just in time for Jace to shake away the shock and confusion.

“I don't know what just happened,” Jace says, dead-pan and vaguely amused, “but I’m just going to let you know that I didn't enjoy it at all.”

He raises an eyebrow and waits for Simon to actually speak, but Simon is doing an incredible impression of a guilty mime.

Simon grows more and more flustered by the second, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “She’s not actually interested, she’s just being an ass about something. Trying to prove a point.”

“What point would that be?”

Simon mutters something under his breath, and then shakes his head. “Nope. Nothing. It doesn’t matter. She won’t do it again, don't worry. Do you want to be a paladin or a mage this time?”

He indicates the lit-up computer screen with one hand, where his brand new RPG is loading, and Jace rolls his eyes as he sits on the bed to pull on his socks. Water trickles down the back of his neck, and he scoops up another towel and vigorously dries his hair while Simon throws himself into his leather wheeling chair.

“Paladin,” Jace says, voice muffled by the towel. “I don't understand that magic shit.”

“You don't understand any of it, but you’re marginally less of a failure at being a paladin,” Simon says cheerfully, tapping at the keys and making the leather chair squeak as he shifts around. He’s dancing, Jace realises, after a moment of staring. Not properly dancing, but the same as the kitchen, just dancing in his chair, moving his body because he doesn’t know how to be still.

“Don’t you have to shower first?” Have asks, aware of the odd note to his voice and determined to ignore it.

Simon bops his head a little, bouncing around. He hums and spins the chair and it’s still weirdly graceful even if it’s the kind of dancing that a toddler would probably do at the table, waiting for pudding.

“I can shower in a bit,” Simon says. “You said you have to go home soon, don’t you? Sparring practice or something?”

“Yeah,” Jace says, because he promised Alec he would help him let off a little steam later, and their family is weird. They don’t talk or drink or go to a movie to relax. They fight, instead.

“I still can’t believe you do martial arts on top of fencing,” Simon says, shifting to make room for Jace at the desk. Jace drops the towel on the bed and sits beside him, on the end of it, grabbing a cushion as he leans forward to pick up the mouse and bring the keyboard closer.

“You’re actually surprised?” Jace asks, raising an eyebrow.

Simon wrinkles his nose, shoved him lightly with an elbow. “Okay, no, I’m not. Still. It’s ridiculously unfair that you can kick my ass.”

“How’d you know that? I’ve never tried to kick your ass,” Jace points out, although he has no doubts that he could.

Simon aims a flat look at him and wriggles closer to poke one of his biceps demonstrably.

“Maybe you’ve got other hidden skills that you don’t know about,” Jace says, with a pointed look at where Simon is still dancing in the chair. He smirks when Simon stops, eyes wide. “We’ll have to spar at some point. See what you’ve got.”

Simon makes a noise that could be a squeak, could be a stifled groan.

“I feel like that’s only going to end badly.”

“Don’t worry,” Jace says, leaning forward to press the enter key, starting the game. His breath brushes against Simon’s cheek when he speaks, and he glances over just as Simon swallows thickly, eyes even wider than before.

“I won’t make you run.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much for reading, hope you enjoyed! Come say hey @thealmostrhetoricalquestion on tumblr or leave a comment here :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much! Let me know what you thought, and come say hi pretty much anywhere, same name! <3


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